


In Rooms Less Bright

by sansbanshees



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Nondescript Tevinter War AU, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansbanshees/pseuds/sansbanshees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When this all goes inevitably wrong and falls apart in the worst of ways, this will be the moment she pinpoints as the start. Not his smile after all, nor her inability to steer clear of it, but this moment that finds her settling down into a chair across the table from a Templar that wants nothing more than to hear what she has to say on an issue they seem to stand on polar opposite ends of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Rooms Less Bright

It’s his smile that finally draws her in.

This is a mistake, she knows it is, but she’s helpless to deny the tug in his direction when she recognizes the sincerity wound into his voice, the earnest smile on his face as he defends his continued enlistment in the Templar Order to Alistair Theirin, a friend they seem to share, though she's never seen this particular Templar before in her life.

Bethany shuffles the papers in her hand to keep up the pretense of working as she winds her way closer to the two men conversing, surreptitious glances growing bolder as her interest rises.

“Magic is the root of it, though,” he's explaining, as if his audience has entirely missed that point, no matter that he’d gone through the same training himself, and chosen a different path. “And Templars are meant to guard against the danger of it. Protect the world from magic. Protect those that wield it from the world. It’s not a well-loved mantle to take up, but it can be a noble one.”

“You don’t think Blights are a slightly more pressing issue? Archdemon? Taint? End of the world type business? I’m not saying mages can’t be a danger, I’ve seen what blood magic can do, what abominations are capable of, same as you, but there are worse things out there.”

On that much, she and Alistair are in agreement, and she isn't privy to nearly as much information as he is within the Warden's ranks.

“But who unleashed the Blight?” He’s leaning forward now, this young man, this Templar that Bethany has no business even thinking about becoming more familiar with, his elbows planted firmly on the table as he continues to illustrate his point. “Who were the first of the darkspawn?”

“Those magisters paid for their crime. In spades. It’s right there in the Chant, in black and white.” The words come out before she can think to stop them, a reminder of the verse’s end, the Maker’s punishment on those that presumed to enter his City, though he must know it as well as she does. She feels heat rise all the way to the tips of her ears when both men look her way, but she continues through the flare of embarrassment at the sudden scrutiny, because she can’t seem to muster up the desire not to. “Why should mages be expected to shoulder the weight of a debt that’s already been settled by the Maker himself?”

Her question silences him-- perhaps not in the manner a Templar might use under different circumstances, but the effect is similar. He’s floundering, flushing as bright as she feels herself doing, all that earnest purpose seeming to rush out of him like mana at her interruption. The word gobsmacked comes to mind, and the display of it here holds a kind of charm she wouldn’t have expected to find.

“I-- I don’t, that is, I um…” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing up deep gold curls that must have taken some effort to master earlier in the day, all that work undone in one nervous gesture. “Maker’s breath, I mean, that’s not what I _meant_ , not entirely.”

“Uh oh.” Alistair, never one to let an awkward exchange pass without comment, steeples his fingers and leans forward, his enjoyment of this development all but written on his face. “The opposition emerges. Cullen, meet Bethany. My very nice, very magically inclined intern. She makes an interesting point, by the way.”

“She does. I mean, _you_ do,” he says, managing to look at Bethany directly now, chastened, if not changed in mindset. “Forgive me, but that seems… It’s a bit of an oversimplification, don’t you think? I mean, maybe you don’t, being a mage, because you’re… a mage.”

“Yes. I am.” It's not that she finds this funny, precisely, but it’s difficult to bite back a smile at the turn of his confidence. It’s unwise to forget the danger he poses, given how committed he seems to the ideologies of the Chantry he serves, but it’s a hard notion to cling to, up close and personal like this. “Do I seem so ripe for possession that I ought to reside in Circle dormitories under Templar watch for the rest of my life? That’s the proposition on the table these days for those that don’t take the Grey, isn’t it?”

“That’s not fair.” He frowns, chewing at his lip. “It’s… it’s more complicated than that.”

“You’re right. It isn’t fair.” If there’s ever a moment to land a significant blow, Anders would say that it’s this one, right now, get the opposition in your sights and shoot them down while you still have the power to do so. She’s never been good at that approach, but she’s capable of making a point when it’s necessary. “I’ve been Harrowed. I keep my appointments with the local Templars. I volunteer my talents at the free clinic when I’m not here slaving away for _him_ ,” She jerks her thumb towards Alistair, though it’s a good-natured accusation, “And I’ve never hurt anyone, which is true of the majority of mages, too. At a guess, I’d say you’ve done more damage with your fists than most of us have with magic, so no, it isn’t fair at all that the start of a war with Magisters a world away should have any bearing on us.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He only nods, absorbing the weight of her words, seeming to consider each one carefully before responding-- unusual, considering that most Templars have dismissed her out of hand for similar statements. She’s no stranger to this debate, accompanying her sister and Anders when they rally local mages to approach the Chantries in the area, lobbying everyone from Grand Clerics to Knight Commanders even before the war with Tevinter truly began to turn the tide of this rising conflict.

“Tell me,” he says, that earnest gaze focused entirely on her now, as if Alistair has ceased to exist for the moment. “What would you have the Chantry do? How would you resolve it?”

Bethany doesn’t, for one moment, believe that the question is meant to condescend. He practically vibrates with genuine desire to hear her answer, she can feel the pulse of it like lyrium in her veins.

“ _Oh_ ,” is all she seems to be able to say at first, letting her hands fall to her sides, barely able to keep a grip on the papers she’d used in her pretense of working. “I, um, I usually find much more opposition before I get that question, and they never actually want to hear the answer--”

“I promise you, I do.”

Her smile comes on suddenly, so bright and wide the stretch of it is almost painful.

“I believe that.”

When this all goes inevitably wrong and falls apart in the worst of ways, this will be the moment she pinpoints as the start. Not his smile after all, nor her inability to steer clear of it, but this moment that finds her settling down into a chair across the table from a Templar that wants nothing more than to hear what she has to say on an issue they seem to stand on polar opposite ends of.

“I think we should focus on partnership. Education. _Trust_. Stand together, protect each other as we’re meant to, instead of branding each other the enemy when we’re not, neither one of us.” It’s a heady feeling, she’s discovering, being the center of his attention. It makes her feel valued, like she’s truly being heard, like her voice matters. She likes it. She likes _him_ , despite better judgement begging her not to. “If we did those things, what couldn’t we face? What could we possibly fail to overcome, if we just banded together, instead of _this_?” She gestures to the distance between them, both literal and figurative. “It could be so simple, if we just… If we could just let it be simple, for once.”

Again, she’s met with silence, but it feels different this time, the stirrings of something that might be a smile tugging at his mouth as he weighs her words once more against a set of internal values she can only guess at. Eventually, a smile does break free as he turns his gaze back to her.

“I wish we could all see things the way you do,” he says, which isn’t precisely an answer, but it hardly matters, she never expected to change his mind. What it is is a place to start, and more than she expected in the first place with someone in his line of work. “I hadn’t even considered the effect that education or outreach could have.”

He’s a pleasant surprise, this friend of Alistair's.

Perhaps he’ll keep surprising her, if she gives him the chance.

“Not so different after all, are you?”

Alistair’s interjection startles them both into remembering that he too sits at the same table, and guilt rushes through her when it occurs to her that she’s taken up enough of their time.

“Maker, I’m sorry, here you were trying to visit with your friend, and I just butted in without a thought about it.” She can feel the heat rising in her cheeks once more as she pushes back from the table, rising up out of the chair to leave them be like she should have done from the start. "I'll just--"

“Yes, _or_ , and hear me out on this before you answer, you could come out with us, keep after him tonight to keep his mind off of tomorrow.” He shoots a glance to Cullen, as if to dare him to argue with the invitation. 

“Why?” Her brow furrows at the offer, at the hint of some looming thing waiting until tomorrow to strike. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

Neither of them rush to answer her. They lock eyes at the same time, in a silent show of... Solidarity? Sympathy? She doesn’t trust Alistair not to backpedal now that he’s let on too much, not if it’s not his information to share. She turns instead to Cullen, her voice coming out softer than she intends it to. This matters. She doesn’t know why, but it does. “Tell me.”

“I ship out tomorrow.” The look on his face is unbearably apologetic. “For Tevinter.”

Oh.

Oh, Maker.

This is so much worse than she’d thought it was.

The thought of him there, of anyone there, facing down Magisters not known for their mercy, Magisters who won’t hesitate to put someone down in defense of the culture they’ve built over centuries, Magisters who may very well deem no horror too unseemly to inflict if he carries knowledge they need to possess, or erase...

She needs to walk away.

Now, right now, before it’s too late.

“I-- I wish that I could.” Bethany forces herself to smile, even knowing it’s incredibly obvious, what she’s doing. He’s a decent sort; of that much, she’s certain. He’ll understand. “I promised my sister I’d be home to read the initial draft of her thesis tonight.”

It’s not entirely a lie, she did promise Marian she’d do exactly that. Not tonight, of course, but the kernel of truth is there if she squints.

“It’s all right,” he says, exactly as she suspected he would, a show of mercy more convincing than the flaming sword he wears to proclaim his allegiances. If his expression veers closer to wistful than it has any logical reason to, she tries not to dwell on it. “I doubt I’d be very good company, things being what they are."

There are so many things she could say to that, reassurances she wants to offer to make it clear that the shift in her demeanor isn’t his fault, but in the end, she settles for a simple “Good luck.”

He nods, eyes cast downward. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she mumbles, turning to leave-- at least, she means to. Something goes wrong in the execution. “Cullen?”

She waits until he looks up to go on, pushing caution aside for the moment, ducking past hesitation and sidestepping self-preservation to offer one last, small smile to someone she’s genuinely glad to have to met. There’s no harm in making that much known. If it doesn’t meet her eyes the way it should, he’s kind enough not to say so.

“Be brave. Be _careful_.” It’s all she can do to maintain the composure in her voice, to keep it steady until she’s said her peace. “Maker watch over you.”

She turns.

She leaves.

It’s the right thing to do.

When she reaches her desk to log off her terminal and officially bring this day to a close, she does allow herself one last look. Ill-advised, maybe, but she wants to remember this, remember him, exactly as he is, in case…

In case.

He’s turned towards Alistair, as if she’d never interrupted them at all, ducking his head down to hide what she suspects is a grin at whatever her officially unofficial mentor is saying -knowing him, it’s as ridiculous as it is charming- and she lets herself observe, her gaze wandering from the curls he’d so easily ruined the order of down to eyes flecked with green amidst a shade more gold than brown. Further still, to the curve of his mouth, the smooth shaven line of his jaw. The sword of mercy emblem he wears, crisp and severe on the immaculately pressed sleeve of his uniform.

He looks up a split second before she looks away, their eyes meeting just long enough for her to find some strange mixture of warmth and curiosity alight in his, and assuming it's meant for her doesn't seem all that far-fetched.

She smiles to herself, small and faint, a wistful quirk of her mouth, and picks her keys up from her desk.

She'll light a candle for him alongside the one she lights for her father on her next visit to the Chantry. It’s a small offering, just a flicker of light in the darkness, but maybe it’ll be enough to guide him through, wherever the end of his journey may reside. It matters. She may never know why, but it does.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this entirely on my recent 50000th rewatch of Waking the Dead. I have no idea if there will be more. I hope so. I've never been good at much more than lurking but I miss DA fandom something fierce, so... We'll see?


End file.
